TK Special #4 - elveloy... Evolutionary Anomalies

DEVIL'S TRIANGLE

"Ship comin' up on our portside, Cap'n!" shouted Hawkins from his perch in the crow's nest, high above the swaying deck.

He spat on the spyglass lens and rubbed it on his shirt, then peered through the cylinder again, searching for details. He counted three masts, the square rig billowing in the wind.

"A clipper," he commented. He continued to scan the vessel. "Looks like she's one of ours, though. Flag's British."

As he watched, the sails sagged suddenly, causing the ship to yaw wildly. The sailor waited for the crew to rush to fix the problem but nothing happened. Nothing moved except the canvas, now flapping uselessly in the wind. He searched the deck as thoroughly as he could but he could see no men at all. The ship was slowly drifting toward them, pushed one way then the other by the waves.

"Can't see anyone on board, Cap'n," he called.

By this time Captain Francis had his own spyglass out, studying the approaching vessel.

"Mebbe we got ourselves a derelict, boys," he wondered aloud, careful to keep the excitement out of his voice. If she was abandoned, the ship would belong to whoever claimed her. Salvage. If they were quick about it.

He looked aft to check the position of their companion ship, the Austin, and breathed a sigh of relief. Looked like she was a good five miles behind them. Even though this section of the North Atlantic, near Bermuda, was a lot safer than it had been the previous century, it was still safer to travel in pairs. But for opportunities like this, it was every ship for themselves!

He turned to his First Mate. "Mr Hobbs, get ready to take a longboat over to that ship when we get a bit nearer, see if anyone's on board. Anyone alive, that is," he added, as an afterthought.

"Aye-aye, sir." Hobbs agreed, suddenly uneasy. What if disease had struck down the crew? He didn't want to catch anything deadly.

The Ellen was soon within hailing distance of the derelict ship. Despite several loud calls, no-one appeared on the deck and with some reluctance, Hobbs ordered the lowering of the longboat and eight men to accompany him.

They rowed across the short gap of ocean, flung a rope ladder up over the side of the drifting ship and climbed aboard. The last man waited for another rope to be tossed down to him and secured the longboat to the side of the ship before climbing the ladder himself.

Captain Francis watched expectantly as his crew quickly searched the deck of the drifter, then disappeared down into the hold below. He wondered what cargo, if any, the ship was carrying. Coming up from the Caribbean, it could well be sugar, or even rum. Mind you, the ship itself was a worthy prize.

He drummed his fingers, waiting impatiently for Hobbs to reappear and tell him what he'd found. Time passed and no-one reappeared.

What were they doing? Where was Hobbs? wondered the Captain, uneasily.

"I bet they're helpin' themselves to the rum," joked Hawkins.

"I don't like this," muttered the Captain. "Something's not right. Mr Taylor, take the other longboat across and find out what's happening. And make sure all the men with you are armed."

Grimly, the Second Mate did as he was told, tucking his own pistol into his waistband. He tied up next to the first longboat and shimmied up the ladder, followed by six men armed with loaded pistols. Two men climbed down into the hold while the others waited at the top, pistols drawn.

The first man down reached the bottom of the ladder and looked around. A red, wet, patch on the boards caught his eye. Blood. Wet blood. That had to be recent. Even as his mind made the leap, a sword slashed at him from the shadows.